


I'll See You Tonight at Our Local Bar

by bertie456 (bertee)



Series: Bones: You're Lovely to Me [17]
Category: Bones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Morning After
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-09-01
Updated: 2008-09-01
Packaged: 2017-10-27 20:23:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/299701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bertee/pseuds/bertie456





	I'll See You Tonight at Our Local Bar

Seeley Booth's alarm clock went off with an cheerful beep at 7.30am.

It was silenced with a growl and a smack eight seconds later, but the damage had already been done. Being forced back to consciousness with the same amount of enthusiasm as a cat being forced into a bathtub for its weekly wash, Booth's brain began to throb slowly and painfully in protest. Giving a self-pitying groan, the agent burrowed his head in the pillow as his senses gradually came back to him, unfortunately accompanied by none of the memories of the previous night.

Shifting position, he smiled contentedly as he felt the familiar weight of his duvet covering his body, mentally congratulating himself for making it to his own bedroom and not collapsing on his son's bed, the couch or any other flat surface in his drunken desire for sleep. He opted not to open his eyes, preferring the blissful ignorance of darkness rather than the harsh reality of light, but the taste of whisky in the back of his throat and the unpleasantly furry texture of his tongue acted as a sufficient indicator of what he'd been doing the night before.

He relaxed into the bed again, intending to drift back off to sleep, when his drowsy nose suddenly picked up a strange, but incredibly familiar, scent.

Sniffing harder, Booth quickly ruled out himself and his son, who was at his mother's house and smelt more of whatever candy he'd recently snaffled rather than women's perfume. Instinctively, he ran through his list of Women Whose Perfume He'd Recognise When Hungover.

 _Rebecca? Nope, too fruity. Cam? Nope, she wears something stronger. Bones?_

He sniffed again, debating, before reaching a conclusion. _No, she smells more stroke-able. Like she's all soft and fluffy and able to be petted. Which obviously, she isn't. In any way._

Directing his thoughts away from petting Temperance Brennan, he reconsidered the perfume. _Maybe it was an old girlfriend. Maybe I smelt it in a store once. Maybe a suspect was wearing it._ He sighed into his pillow. _Maybe I should just open my eyes and see where it's coming from._

Willing his stomach contents and his head to stay where they were, Booth rolled onto his back, opening his eyes to examine his room for the mystery smell. He blinked, letting his eyes adjust to the dim light filtering through the curtains, before allowing them to drift across the sights in front of them. His gaze meandered leisurely across his dresser, wardrobe and bedroom door, before coming to rest on the owner of the sweet-scented perfume, who was lying beside him, sound asleep.

It took his sleep-filled mind a few seconds to register exactly who was lying naked in his bed.

 _Oh God._

It took a further half second for him to scramble, panicked, off the bed, before falling to the floor with a loud thud and a pained yelp, followed by a whimper as his floaty head seemed to land later than the rest of him.

The thud-yelp-whimper combination served as an effective alarm clock for his companion, who yawned as she stretched her arms above her head tiredly, her voice husky with sleep, "Good morning."

Booth's eyes widened at the development, but his mouth was unable to produce noise since it was still hanging open in shock. Eventually, he managed to form words, and ventured, mildly terrified, "Good morning?"

It was like watching a car crash. He was unable to look away as the recognition that his wasn't the voice of her usual sleeping partner washed across Angela's face, and she turned, as if in slow motion, to face him. Their eyes locked for a moment, both sharing a horrified stare, before she copied his earlier reaction, and jumped out of the bed as though scalded, her yelp only marginally more high-pitched than Booth's.

However, unlike Booth, she was alert enough to not only realise she was naked but to take the covers with her as she stood, wrapping them messily around herself to preserve some dignity. Becoming aware that he too was as nature intended, he snatched a pillow off the bed, holding it in front of him as he stood, with at least one set of cheeks flushed in embarrassment and his head still pounding from the hangover.

 _Please God, tell me that I didn't just sleep with Bones' best friend._

Unfortunately for Booth, God had apparently stuck up a sign reading "Back in 5", thus leaving him to get his answers from a more earthly source. Namely, Angela. Swallowing hard, he gave her a hopeful smile, asking "We didn't... y'know, did we?"

Her answer was not the confident assertion he was hoping for. She looked up at him, hair dishevelled and sheets clutched round her, as she replied uncertainly, "I don't think so... I mean, we were at the bar, and Bren and Jack were there, and we were drinking, and..." Her hand went to her mouth as her body seemed to recall the memory of drink also. "I think I'm going to be sick."

Before he could even say "The en-suite's that way", she'd dashed around the bed and out of the door, making a beeline for the toilet with one hand over her mouth and the other holding onto the bedsheets with steadfast determination.

After months of dealing with morning sickness with his ex, Booth now had a Pavlovian reaction when it came to vomiting women, and he automatically headed for the bathroom, to help with the hair-holding-up duties as well as providing the necessary reassuring back-stroking that apparently made nausea so much more bearable.

However, before he got half-way across the lounge, he froze as something far more worrying caught his eye.

Jack Hodgins lay sprawled on Booth's couch, producing a snore that sounded like donkeys mating. It wasn't his presence or his snoring that bothered Booth though, so much as the fact that the entomologist was wearing _his_ shirt, had _his_ tie fastened around his head, and had a liberal coating of baby pink lipstick on his mouth.

 _God, no. Please, please, please let this not be what it looks like._

Hearing the sounds of Angela's alcohol coming back up, Booth felt his stomach flip too, although more from the fact that he had woken up to find himself sharing an apartment with a naked artist and her boyfriend who was wearing his clothes. Desperately trying to avoid the horrific conclusion that was dancing in front of his eyes, Booth backed away from both Hodgins and the bathroom, stunned into silence.

This silence didn't last long, as the flushing of the toilet caused Hodgins to awake with a grunt, rubbing his eyes before sitting up on the couch and looking sleepily around as his surroundings came into focus.

These surroundings happened to include a very naked Booth, and Hodgins blinked in confusion upon finding the agent standing in the middle of the lounge, covered only by a pillow. Finding his voice, he asked uncertainly, "Uh, dude?"

Before he could say any more, the bathroom door swung open and Angela wobbled out, her clothing matching Booth's squishy shield. Not seeing Hodgins, she addressed her former bed partner with an apologetic smile, "Booth, last night was, um..." She smiled, ruffling her hair slightly in embarrassment.

Hodgins' eyes widened, and he looked between the two of them in disbelief. Finally arriving at the fact that his girlfriend had slept, naked, in another man's bed, he dragged himself hurriedly to his feet, staggering towards Booth with fists raised, ready to defend Angela's honor. "You slept with her?"

"Jack?" Angela exclaimed, registering Hodgins' presence for the first time.

Booth's face broke into a relieved smile at the entomologist's enraged question, and he asked in confirmation, "You didn't know?" Hodgins' scowl told him that he didn't, and he sighed, grateful to hear that he'd had no part in whatever bedroom activities may have gone on the previous night, "Oh, thank God."

This relief was not shared by Hodgins, who repeated incredulously, "Thank God? You slept with my girlfriend!"

Before either Booth or Angela could question the veracity of that statement, Hodgins' fist swung up, impacting hard with the agent's jaw and sending him stumbling back against the wall.

"Jack!"

Getting very little reaction from Booth, Hodgins raised his fist again, slightly unsure of what to do since Booth was more concerned with holding his pillow in place rather than retaliating. Angela rushed over to him before he needed to make that decision, grabbing his arm and pulling him away from a dazed Booth, speaking quietly, "This isn't what it looks like, okay? I don't know what happened but I don't think we slept together."

"You don't think..." Hodgins took a deep breath, still angry at the situation, before elaborating fully, "Angela, you're both naked, you're in his apartment, you're wearing his sheets, he's got your lipstick all over his face..." He glanced back over at Booth, remembering what he'd seen after he punched him. "Hell, you've even written 'Mine' on his back in lipstick."

Booth looked at Angela. "You did what?"

Angela wrinkled her brow, confused. "I didn't..." Her eyes widened as realisation dawned. "Guys," she said worriedly, pointing to the lipstick on Booth's face, "That's not my color."

Thoroughly bemused, the two men exchanged suspicious looks, with Booth asking tentatively, "Then whose is it?"

"Mine."

All three of them turned upon hearing another tired voice from the kitchen, and were surprised to see Brennan emerging from what could only described as a small fort under Booth's kitchen table. Stretching, she wandered over to them, dressed in the relatively normal attire of a pair of Booth's sweatpants and a baggy tee reading 'World's Greatest Lover'. Apparently oblivious to all the other strange aspects of the circumstances, she walked up to Booth, inspecting his face closely as he covered himself more protectively with the pillow.

Satisfied, she nodded. "Yep, that's mine." Glancing over at Hodgins, she informed Angela, "That's yours."

Deeply embarrassed by the situation, Booth asked, with a hopeful smile, "Uh, Bones? Why have I got your lipstick on my face?"

"Because you were wearing my lipstick," she replied, conclusively. "It probably spread to your face when you were sleeping." She glanced down at his pillow, which was smeared with lipstick. "Yes, you can see the scatter pattern there."

"You were wearing lipstick?" Hodgins asked with a derisive snort, and Booth shot him a 'If I didn't need to hold this pillow over my crotch, you'd be so very dead' glare.

Inadvertently coming to her partner's aid, Brennan contributed, "You were wearing lipstick too, Hodgins."

His grin vanished. "What?"

She frowned at his surprise. "Don't you remember? After you'd dressed up as Benny and Bjorn, you wanted to be Madonna."

Neither man could respond to this, so it fell to Angela to question, "Benny and Bjorn? From ABBA? Okay, sweetie, how do you even know who they are?"

Brennan's frown was now directly at her best friend. "Because you told me last night." She scanned the sheepish-looking group. "Do none of you remember?" Their blank looks gave her an answer and she sighed. "Go put some clothes on and then I'll tell you what happened."

Not needing to be told twice, Booth, Hodgins and Angela scuttled off to retrieve what clothes they could. Angela found the majority of hers on the floor of the lounge and barricaded herself in the bathroom to change. Hodgins swapped Booth's shirt for his own, which had been wedged in the couch cushions during whatever happened the previous night, but was pleased to find that he was still in his own jeans. After shuffling into his bedroom, Booth gladly put on a pair of sweatpants, but left his shirt off as he inspected the writing on his back in the mirror.

Eventually, they congregated back in the lounge, sitting on Booth's couch and chair in nervous anticipation, eager but apprehensive to hear exactly how they had got in their present state. Brennan stood in the center like a teacher with a detention class, albeit a hungover and very confused class who couldn't remember why they were even in detention.

"So, what do you remember?" she asked curiously.

Taking it upon himself to speak, Booth began optimistically, "Well, we went out for a drink after work to celebrate finishing the case, and we met Angela and Hodgins at the bar."

"Because it was our nine-month anniversary," Angela contributed, nodding confidently. "And then we started drinking, and Hodgins and Booth were members of ABBA, and we came back here, and nothing inappropriate happened between me and Booth, and then we woke up this morning."

Brennan raised her eyebrows and Angela slumped on the couch with a sigh. "Okay, so I remember drinking in the bar."

Smirking, Temperance inquired, "Do you remember the singing?"

"There was singing?" Hodgins interjected, panicked. "Singing of what kind?"

"Loud, mostly," she replied, grinning at the memory. "I think you sang along to the Beach Boys, Aretha Franklin and the Apes."

"The Monkees, Bones," Booth corrected quickly.

She raised her eyebrows. "So you do remember?"

Receiving accusatory glares from his fellow amnesiacs, Booth shook his head defensively. "Just correcting, not recollecting."

Satisfied, Brennan continued, "Well, then they started playing some ABBA - I think it may have been a themed evening - and you two decided to dress up as Benny and Bjorn."

"When you say dress up..." Angela prompted, smiling at the thought and wishing she could remember.

"Hodgins borrowed Booth's shirt and put his tie around his head, and Booth wore Angela's scarf and his wifebeater," she informed them.

Booth gave Hodgins a wary glance, asking, "How come you took my shirt and tie? Why didn't I wear them?"

Having no idea what his thought processes were the previous evening, Jack looked helplessly at his boss, who explained for him, "Hodgins got dressed up first, so he'd already taken your shirt before you decided to do the same."

"Ha!" the entomologist exclaimed, with a triumphant tone not usually associated with someone who drunkenly dressed up as a member of ABBA. "You copied me!"

"Actually, you copied each other," Brennan interrupted again.

Angela grinned, drawing the obvious conclusion, and addressed Booth, "You dressed up as Madonna and Hodgins copied you."

Booth's face fell and he put his head in his hands, only looking up again when his partner clarified, "Technically, Ange, you dressed him up as Madonna and then I did the same with Hodgins."

Seeing Booth's glare, Angela gave him an apologetic shrug, "Hey, I bet you looked good in that lipstick."

Brennan added, "We decided that you would suit my color and that Hodgins would suit Angela's."

Hodgins looked up at her, his cheeks flushed as he said, "You know, it is customary to be embarrassed, or at least a little remorseful, the morning after you've painted lipstick on your friends' mouths."

She shrugged, but was not forthcoming with remorse. "I don't see any reason to be embarrassed. We were all consenting adults having a good time, and we all just happened to do things that aren't necessarily classed as normal behavior."

"Speaking of normal behavior," Booth said, curious about another part of the evening, "Why do I have 'Mine' written on my back in lipstick, followed by what looks like it used to be your signature?"

"Because I wanted to ride you," she answered simply.

Booth stared at her in silence, while Angela leaned in towards her boyfriend, whispering smugly, "You owe me ten bucks."

Temperance reconsidered her earlier statement. "Actually, we both wanted to ride you."

On hearing this announcement, Angela studiously avoided Hodgins' shocked gaze, while Booth suddenly missed the presence of the very concealing pillow. Trying very hard not to picture any of the mental images that sprang to mind at this thought, Booth stammered, "So, did you- I mean, the 'Mine' and the riding..."

She nodded openly. "I wrote my name on you, so that I could ride on your back to get home because my feet were sore. Angela tried to use Hodgins, but the height and weight ratio was incompatible."

A simultaneous "Hey!" came from the couple, whom Brennan had managed to offend equally by the description.

Mildly relieved to hear that the only position involved was piggy-back, Booth asked tentatively, "And we came back here because...?"

"It was nearest," Angela answered, fully aware of the drunken rule that the best house to crash at was inevitably the closest.

Nodding, Booth turned his attention back to Brennan. "How did these sleeping arrangements come about exactly?"

Both Hodgins and Angela leaned forward at the question, eager to hear the hopefully-non-sexual reasoning behind Angela and Booth ending up naked in bed together.

Brennan looked up, trying to remember the details before replying slowly and methodically, "Booth took his bed, because he lives here. He did offer to share, but I decided against it and Hodgins stated that apparently 'Men don't share beds'." She looked at the men in the room and, seeing them nod in agreement, made a mental note to add that to her list of male anthropological quirks.

"So Angela agreed to share the bed, because it looked comfortable, and Hodgins took the couch." She looked at the entomologist. "You did try to sleep in Parker's bed, but Booth threatened you and you changed your mind."

She finished with a conclusive nod, and Angela raised her hand. "Umm, sweetie? Why did you camp out under the kitchen table?"

Brennan glanced back over at her fort. "Apparently, I like to nest when intoxicated. Usually I do so with a large amount of pillows on the bed, but since I didn't have that, I guess I improvised."

It was Booth's turn to raise his hand. Shifting uncomfortably, he asked, "Uh, you wouldn't happen to maybe know why we were naked, would you, Bones?"

Unabashed by the blunt question, she answered, "Well, I can't speak for your usual habits, Booth, but I think Angela may have taken her clothes off in here and then climbed into your bed when you were already asleep."

Angela frowned. "Why would I take my clothes off in-" Her eyes moved to Hodgins. "Oh." She realised Brennan's proximity to the couch. "Oh!" Biting her lip, she said apologetically, "God, Bren, I'm sorry."

"It's alright, Ange," Temperance said with a small smile. "My bed had walls."

Suitably humiliated, the artist looked at her boyfriend, whose face was a matching shade of lobster-red, and said, awkwardly, "Wow, um, we're just going to go home and, um, get cleaned up." They both got to their feet, eager to leave, as Angela continued with a smile, "So, yeah, thanks, Booth, for letting us stay here, and Bren, for the recap. We'll see you on Monday?"

"See you on Monday," Brennan replied absently as she checked her watch. The couple left hurriedly, and she moved over to the kitchen to retrieve her clothes from the floor, calling back to Booth, "I'm going to go too; my car's right down the street. I'll wash your clothes and return them next week."

Getting to his feet, Booth said quickly, "It's alright, Bones, you don't need to-"

"Of course I do," she answered with a smile. "I don't want to keep them. Besides," she added, looking down at the claim on the front of the tee, "I think this is kind of personal."

Possibly more embarrassed than when he was holding his pillow, Booth defended, "It was from some old buddies of mine." She stood, eyebrows raised, and he realised the implications of his statement. "Not like that! It was a joke, because, you see, with these women, and..."

He trailed off, knowing no good could possibly come of his explanation. Smirking, Temperance made her way past him to the front door, saying with a smile, "See you on Monday, Booth."

"See you, Bones," he replied with a half-hearted wave as she closed the door.

Left alone in the apartment, he glanced around, wishing he could remember what had happened and debating whether to be relieved or annoyed that Brennan could inform them of exactly what they'd done. Looking over at the kitchen table, he went to investigate, humoring the part of his mind that was still ten-years-old and enjoyed the building of forts.

He was remarkably impressed with the architectural skills of his inebriated partner. Kneeling down, he peered inside to see that she had made a comfortable-looking bed out of pillows and blankets, while using the cushions from his couch as walls on both sides. However, his inner child enjoyed destruction just as much as construction and he quickly pushed the cushions away, dragging the blankets out to return them to their rightful homes.

As he shook them out, he was surprised to see a pair of lacy red panties flutter to the floor. Picking them up with a smirk, he dropped them on the table to return later, faintly gratified to see that his partner's memory wasn't completely infallible.

Becoming irritated at the thought of her advantageous knowledge of the previous night, he shook the blankets harder, quickly learning that her retelling of events was not entirely comprehensive when his own pair of boxers dropped quietly to the ground beside him.


End file.
